I'm a husband, a father, a grandfather, an uncle, a friend, a pianist, a composer; I'm a poet, a painter, a piano tuner, and a retired music teacher. I'm a relatively observant Jew and a diehard socialist. I'm 65 years old and live in NYC with my wonderful wife, Susan. And even though I don't have a college degree in English, I am theeditor of the best online community poetry journal in the world.

​Verses are untimely guestsDescending when they chooseUpon the slumber of the bardDreaming in his bed.

He will not get a rightful restSo deems an errant museNo matter, then, his waking hard — Again the pair are wed.

​

Experience — a teacherWhose methods are quite strange — She waits for you to reach herAnd watches as you change.

No written test is givenAt this peculiar school — The proof is in the living — By that you pass or fail.

A Poem Perhaps

There are a million ways tosay a million things. And not one ofthem is better than satisfactory. Experience itself cannot be told, butit can be hinted at in some incarnations of art.This is one. Consider it. Be fair. Don't judge too harshly the flowers of the field because they weren't chosen for the garden.